Five AM
by AmiRide
Summary: Just like every Sunday, Max snuck down to the kitchen to take a break from the world. A break well worth getting up early for. A warm, well-deserved break, filled with coffee and sunlight and Fang.


**So here is a short and sweet little vacation from my other fics, just a little something I whipped up while I was supposed to be studying for chemistry. I know I haven't updated in ages, and I'm sorry, but I need to ask you guys a question. For all of you who have read "Tape Measure", should I make the second chapter in 1****st**** person or 3****rd**** person?**

**Review!**

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The house was quiet. From across the hall, Max could hear Gazzy's soft snoring. She could almost visualize him curling and uncurling his fists in his sleep, a nervous habit he'd had since he was four. She tiptoed down the hallway, careful not to step on the creaking piece of wood under the stain on the carpet. She held her breath as she passed Angel's room. Angel woke up at the slightest flutter of a wing, the bat of an eyelash. It was the last room down the hall of the new house, and she quietly walked down two floors to the kitchen.

The new house was huge, full of nooks and crannies they had yet to discover. They'd gotten it only two months ago, with the money they'd received after taking down Jeb and his associates, only a few miles away from where the E-shaped house had once stood. Max hoped that was the last they'd hear from scientists ever again. A few years had passed since Jeb's defeat, but they'd been staying at Mom's house. Now that she, Fang, and Iggy had turned seventeen, Dr. Martinez had let them move back to Colorado. They now had a full-time job taking care of the kids, homeschooling, and making sure they could live comfortably. Iggy's blindness let him avoid the bulk of the work, but it was rare that Max and Fang ever had time to themselves. Early Sunday was their sacred moment together, time to unwind.

Stealing down the stairs, Max almost tripped over the last step, the one that was slightly higher than the rest. Living in the house was like another mission—twists and turns everywhere, unexpected creaks and doors leading to nowhere. She had to absorb each new piece of information as it came.

She stole into the kitchen, with the silence of a thief. A good one. She shook her golden hair back, enjoying the first few rays of sunlight.

And then he stepped into the kitchen. He must have taken the back staircase, because she hadn't heard him. Then again, when did she ever hear him? She was sitting at one of the couches that lined the windows, her legs curled to her chest. She smiled as he kissed her forehead and sat across from her next to her, setting down two steaming mugs of coffee next to them. Max liked hers with lots of cream and sugar. Fang preferred his black. Bitter and strong, like Max would have been without her bit of sugar, her little family.

"Why do you like your coffee black?" She said. She thought of another Fang-joke. _Because isn't that the way he likes everything?_ "How can you stand it without making it a little sweeter?"

"Life isn't sweet," he said. It couldn't be later than five A.M., and the early spring sunlight made his eyes look faintly speckled with gold, softened the angles of his face.

"Well, then you should take every bit of sugar you can get," she said. She leaned back into her pillow and stared at their massive backyard through the kitchen window. They were silent for a moment.

"I do put sugar, actually," he said all of a sudden. "But I don't stir it in." He looked out of the window and up at the sky, a pale gray with hints of yellow peeking out behind the clouds.

"What?" She raised an eyebrow. Why?"

"I don't know," he said. "I like taking a sip and not knowing whether it'll be nice or not. It's never constant. My bits of sugar come in pieces. Like when Angel says something sweet, or when I come in Gazzy's room to say goodnight and he's already sleeping, and he looks like a little angel. Or when Nudge plays something on the piano or Iggy remembers that I don't like parsley in omelets. Or Sunday mornings. With you."

He stayed silent after that pronouncement, and she expected it. It was a lot for him to say, Fang being Fang. And she loved him for it. She loved these Sunday mornings, before everyone else was awake, when it was just the two of them. She loved that they didn't joke or laugh like they usually did, just sat and enjoyed each other's presence with a mug of coffee or hot chocolate, depending on who made it that morning. She couldn't remember who'd started the tradition, nor when it had started, but she knew that ever since they were seven or eight, they'd met in the E-shaped house's kitchen early on Sunday mornings for cocoa and a talk.

_I love you, _she thought suddenl_y._ She remembered one night when they were fifteen where they'd sat on the roof and repeated those three words to each other until they lost their meaning. But she didn't say them now. All she said was, "It's my favorite part of the week."

He smiled at her. She felt so special that she was the only one with who he smiled freely, all the time. Sure, when the Flock was together, he grinned, and laughed. But it was like he had a daily quota, and when he'd used it he just expressed happiness through half smirks and kind eyes. When they were alone, on Sunday mornings, he was in a constant state of smiling. He smiled for no reason. It made him beautiful in a irreal sort of way, not untouchable but the kind of beautiful that made you want to double-check to see if he was really there.

The house didn't have many doors, and there was a lot of open space, just the way they liked it. It was perfect for walking around with their wings out. Lots of big windows to fly in and out of, and big entryways. But the kitchen was a smaller room, circular with a door and a window and a window seat that looked like it was made just for the two of them. It was only big enough for a counter and sink, a dishwasher, a stove, oven, a few cabinets and fridge. And she liked it that way, small and cozy and filled with yellow sunlight. It was their place, just for them.

It was well worth getting up early. There was nowhere she'd rather be on at five in the morning on a Sunday than sitting across from Fang on a window seat, a steaming mug of coffee between her hands. They smiled a conspiratorial smile at each other over the steam of their drinks.

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***Shoves disgustingly sweet fanfiction at your face* Here, a Sunday fic for your Sunday. I hope you guys liked it!**

**~Ami****


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